and the young fellow thought he saw a weakness. His fourth lunge was a legitimate attack. Charlie feinted to the right as if protecting his weak left side and he fell for it. Charlie caught his knife hand just above the wrist, and with a quick tug pulled him forward, adding to his momentum. Then he swung his wrist back over the fellow’s head, dropping him neatly on his back in the alley with a nice thud. As his friends surged forward, Charlie bent the fellow’s wrist at an odd angle, took the knife out of his hand, leaned down and pressed the edge to the fellow’s throat. Everyone froze.
Charlie made an effort at their language. “Me not with them Syndonese.”
An older version of the young fellow stepped forward, spit at Charlie’s feet and spoke in standard. “You hurt him, you die slow.”
Charlie removed the knife from the boy’s throat. “I hurt no one,” he said as he laid both knives on the ground and stepped back. The boy surged upward, grabbed both knives as he did so, and charged at Charlie. He caught one of the boy’s wrists again, but the boy drew a line of fire down Charlie’s forearm with the other knife. Someone tackled them both, then they lifted Charlie off his feet and pinned him to the alley wall. The boy stood facing him, holding both knives with no one restraining him.
“Stopping, stopping, stopping,” the whore screamed as she came running down the alley, accompanied by two other hookers and a small girl that looked to be in her early teens. “Him not with them. Him them stopping.” The four girls pushed the men aside, shoved and elbowed their way between Charlie and the boy with the knives, forming a small cordon around Charlie.
“You ain’t hurting him, Willie,” the first hooker shouted at the boy, smeared makeup streaming down her face, “or I cut your balls off. Momma Toofat says bring him.”
They dragged Charlie off with his arms pinned behind his back, pulled him into a nearby saloon, past occupied tables and into a back room. They sat him in a chair and tied him there, then two of them sat down to watch him and wait.
Charlie never did find out what happened to the four Syndonese spacers, though he assumed it was not pleasant and they did not survive it. But after about five minutes a big, fat woman waddled into the room and sat down facing him. The three whores, the young girl, the young knife fighter, and the older version of the younger man all accompanied her. She barked something in trampsie too fast for him to follow, and one of the men stood and approached Charlie with a knife. Charlie figured this was it, but instead the man cut his bonds, freeing his arms. The old woman reached out and took his injured arm, raised it to look at the slash there and the blood dripping on the floor. “We owe you, stranger,” she said in standard. She barked more orders; one of the whores produced a wet towel and a bottle of booze, knelt down in front of him and started cleaning the wound.
The old woman let go of his arm, took his chin in one hand, and turned his head from side to side. She said something in trampsie that Charlie didn’t understand, and at the look on his face she switched to standard. “You once pretty boy.”
Charlie shrugged. “Not anymore.”
“I’m Momma Toofat. You saved Janice Likesiteasy.” She nodded toward the whore, who was actually quite pretty, dark curly hair down to her shoulders, big brown eyes.
She smiled at Charlie through dark red lips, the left side of her face puffing up from the slap the spacer had given her. She said, “Thanks. Them fuckers going to hurt me.”
Momma Toofat turned on her and shouted, “And you’re stupid girl who’s going to learn big lesson starting tomorrow.” Janice lowered her eyes.
Momma turned back to Charlie, and nodding toward the young boy and the older man she said, “Willie Cutsgood cut your arm, and Willie’s father Nano Neverlose.”
The whore cleaning his wounded arm smiled up at him. The opposite of Janice, she was all blond hair and blue eyes, wearing a skirt so tight it appeared almost painted on, and a bustier bursting with cleavage. “I’m Sally Wantsalot.” She pointed to the third whore, a redhead, frizzy wild hair, black lipstick, green eyes. “Trina Godowna.” Then she pointed at the little